The city air was damp – damp as a toddler’s pull up and smelled about as good. There are millions of potential cases in the city and I have to get a stinker. He walked into my office, a huge tub of sweating lard in a warm up suit, and asked: “Are you a private investigator?” I said: “That’s what it says on my door.” And the conversation went downhill from there. He wanted me to find his pet shihtzu, black and white, but his money was green and he paid up front. I pointed my dogs out the door and hit the streets smiling at every hot dog stand I passed. If I were a pampered pooch, where would I be? Hmm, a cat house no doubt, but where would the shihtzu be? Nobody in their right mind would want a rat sized dog whose head and bum were indistinguishable but I only see left minded clients anyway. So dognapping was probably out unless it was by a neighbor kid with a soft heart and a softer head. Besides, there’s been no ransom note. So the pricey pooch is perambulating somewhere. Little legs, little vision, can’t of gotten far. I checked gofer holes, under porches, and even in garbage cans, no fur balls to be seen. “Flatfoot, you’re getting caught flatfooted on this one”, I said to myself. Wonder how many days the client will pay? Dog is probably the love of his life so he’ll pay and that’s ok with me. A nice walk and maybe I will get lucky, if not one way, perhaps in another. After a couple of days I kept up the search for the next few weeks from my bed and from the bar. Needless to say I found what I was looking for. Figuring the goose was about out of golden eggs, I went to the pet store, bought a collar like the dog had and stopped by the market to pick up a nice steak for dinner. I dipped part of the collar in the blood, let it sit in the sun for a couple days, ran over it a few times in the dirt and broke the bad news. Case closed.

He was a shihtzu. A swear word with fur. A enigma, but only if your definition of ‘enigma' meant eating 3 squares from a bowl with the name Mr. Snuggles on it. He had seen better days before he went on the lam, but nature gave him a nose on his face and he would have to spend his life following behind it, even if it meant following it into an old cat poop or some other dogs rear-end on a regular basis.

He had tasted freedom before. It needed salt. The kind of salt that you get at a fancy restaurant, particularly in back by the dumpster. The kind of salt you longed for, but couldn't remember because you were easily distracted by shiny objects. The kind that didn't come in an economy size bag of Snausages. Freedom has a price and its never marked down.

Sure. When you are a walking ragmop with no testicles and a pink collar, you take a lot of crap. And it grates on you. When the opportunity comes to bolt, you are gone like a steamer on the front lawn of life.

Around every corner was another hydrant. A tree. A rosebush. And they all were watching for you. When your bladder is the size of a trivial pursuit piece and you just drank a gallon of blue toilet water, you don't stop to ask questions. You just go. On everything. And hope that it sticks. Not that it mattered to you, because as a shihtzu you were not given the opportunity to store urine for more than 3 seconds at a time anyways. It seems God does have a sense of humor.

His owner was worried sick and hired some 2-bit gumshoe to track him down. But he couldn't find his behind with both hands, a roadmap and night goggles. Yet he looked. Keep trying, Sherlock. You aint cracking this case. He had his nose in the wind and no rolled up newspaper was going to tame this bag of fleas. That is, unless it scratched him behind the ear and made his leg wiggle like it was a broken power line in a thunderstorm.

Yeah, he saw the guy snoop dogging around the kennels. Dressed up like McGruff the crime fighting dog on a three day bender, smelling like zema dip thats sat for too long in the sun. He couldnt find the shizzle in the manizzle.

Lets face it. Life is a tennis ball covered in drool that someone picks up and fake throws and then says "where did it go? Where did it go?" as if you gave a crap. Although, you did swear it went that away. Doh! Fooled again!

She was a 40 something blonde, Target clothes, expensive shoes, cheap bag. She came in the door with a big smile on her face, leaned on the frame and said: "Are you a Private Dick?"

I said: "I have a strap-on at home, and I only use it in private".

Her jaw dropped so fast I was suprised the sonic boom did not break the windows for miles around. Ten seconds later she was stammering appologies about being inappropriate. I told her that we had both played shock jock now and could get down to business. People with small wit should keep it to themselves. She said her name was Jornma Czeisilwitz which no doubt is spelled how it sounds and that she suspected her husband was cheating on her. I asked her if people have told her that she was the jealous type or if she thought she was. I asked if she was annoyed by her husband looking at pretty women when they were out in public together, whether she worried about him and his secretary at work, or if spent a lot of time thinking about his old girlfriends. Then I asked her why she felt that he was cheating on her. Satisfied that she was not the jealous type and that she had some basis for concern I gave her three options.

I told her: "We can do this 3 ways. The cheapest way, the cheap way or the expensive way. The cheapest way is to realize that most men will stray from time to time. They will screw anything in a skirt especially if its after 2am in a bar. Which leads to unpleasant thoughts about men in kilts. But if he treats you well and you still love him its best just to ignore his affairs cause they don't really matter".

"The cheap way is for us to discus your husband's habits, rent a hotel room for you to stay in, and if I can seduce him in less than an hour and bring him back to your room that's all the proof you need. I won't throw myself at him and I won't even try that hard. So if we enter the room, you can call your lawyer in good conscience".

"The expensive way is for me to follow your husband around for a few weeks, asking discrete questions, taking photos, etc. If he is innocent, you have paid for your peace of mind. If he is guilty, there's a good chance he is fooling around with your best friend or your sister and seeing that in technicolor will break your heart but your will have absolute proof".

"So, Jornma, here's my card. Go home. Have a good cry. Call me tomorrow and tell me what way you want to do it".

She called me the next day and said she was gonna do it the cheapest way. Smart girl. Who said Polarks are dumb?